Twelve Days
by Infinitesimi
Summary: A series of oneshots taking place in or around the month of December. Characters and settings vary in each chapter, but most contain slight spoilers. [Friends and Lovers universe]
1. And a Partridge in a Pear Tree

_On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**A Partridge in a Pear Tree**

"What the fuck is that?" Ed snarled the moment his father set the thing on the coffee table, eyeing the fanciful decoration with disgust.

Hohenheim barely glanced at his son's twisted expression, shrugging out of his coat and unwinding the thick scarf wrapped around his neck. Ed could at once detect the sickly-sweet odor of rotting flesh disguised by heavy cologne, and wrinkled his nose further, still glaring at the intricately folded paper sitting in front of him. "I believe it is a pear tree," his father said calmly.

"Where did it come from?" came the next question, dripping with the same disgust as the first.

"It was a gift from a group of particularly talented students of mine," he answered, hanging up his coat and scarf and coming to sit across from Ed in the oversized armchair. "How are you doing?"

"Fine," Ed spat, slamming the book shut with a loud _clap_ and standing unsteadily, walking with a noticeable limp around the coffee table, putting as much distance between himself and his father as possible without leaving the room entirely. With Hohenheim sitting, Ed was now able to glare down at him, which he proceeded to do with enthusiasm. If he could have, he would have folded his arms across his chest, but his shoulder muscles were too sore to lift the wooden prosthetic that had taken the place of his automail in this technology-forsaken place.

Hohenheim was eyeing him critically. "You're moving rather stiffly, have your joints been bothering you?"

Ed looked away, not in the mood to see his father's concerned expression. "Yeah, what of it?" he muttered. "Not like there's anything can be done." He stared with feigned interest at the dust collecting in the corner.

"You should try a hot bath, it will relax your muscles," the older man said, still with that same level, even tone that made his son's blood boil.

Instead of informing his father that he had tried that earlier in the day, Ed chose not to respond at all, instead walking the rest of the way around the table to return to his seat on the couch. On his way his false leg bumped the edge of the table, sending the folded paper pear tree toppling off the edge to land on its side on the wooden floor. Edward swore under his breath and scooped the thing back up as he sat down and set it upright on the table, examining it with more curiosity this time than disgust. Finally he looked up at the old man with narrowed eyes. "Why would anyone want to give you a gift?" he demanded, but his accusing tone was familiar to Hohenheim, had become part of the daily routine.

The man shrugged. "Perhaps it is a token of appreciation for my wonderful teaching skills," he said placidly, feeling relief at his son's bitter laughter, a clear indication that Ed could see through his bullshit in a heartbeat. In fact, the decoration had been a gift from his secretary, a lonely woman who had found him infinitely fascinating and irresistibly charming.

"But who the hell gives someone a _pear _tree?" Ed mused, calmer now, propping his elbow on the table and his chin in his hand.

Hohenheim placed his large hands on his knees, pressing down and standing up, feeling his bones creak with the movement. The damp London air combined with the chill of early winter was doing nothing for his crumbling body, and his ancient soul was weary of this new torment: the son he had thought Trisha would raise, Trisha would care for, Trisha would love suddenly dumped, broken and useless, in this world his mistakes had landed him in. "It's something from a holiday song," he explained finally. "It was a Christmas gift."

Ed merely raised his eyebrows and flipped open his book again, leaning back into the couch and bringing the pages closer to his face. "I can't believe this world has Christmas," he muttered, adding something unintelligible as his eyes began to scan the words in front of him.

"What was that?" his father inquired, his eyebrows raising in a gesture that mirrored the son's.

Dull gold gleamed in the low light of evening. "I said," Ed repeated slowly, "I hate being alone in this place."

_You're not alone, _Hohenheim had wanted to say, but that was not part of the routine. _You're not without any family,_ but that would be like offering to be a father to the boy instead of just a place to sleep_. I hate it too,_ which was the honest truth, but there was a reason seniments of that nature were not exchanged between the two sinners.


	2. Two Turtledoves

_On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Two Turtledoves**

The wind was whipping his ink-black hair across his face, but it was a warm wind, warm for December, and he smiled as his vision was obscured not by his own dark strands but by the silky-gold of his wife's.

_Roy Mustang, a married man. _Never thought he'd see the day.

This day he was neither Private nor Corporal nor Colonel nor Brigadier General. He was the happy husband of one Riza Hawkeye (who had declined being Riza Mustang for professional reasons.)

One smooth, strong hand crept under his shirt, ghosting across his stomach, over his belly button, one finger sliding under the waist of his pants. He seized her hand with his own, and murmured into her hair, "Riza, we're in public."

She turned her liquid brown eyes on him, and her expression melted him at once. "Then let's get out of public," she said matter-of-factly, withdrawing her hand from beneath his clothing and twining her fingers through his.

He wrapped his other arm around her stomach and drew her through the bright silk draperies, from the balcony to the bedroom, unable to take his eyes off his wife. The room they were in reminded him that they were far from any concerns, far from anything but each other in this distant country. The journey across the desert had not exactly been romantic, but the trip was worth it. It was the symbol of the start of their new life together.

Yes, they both belonged to the military. But now, in an entirely separate way, they both belonged to the other, and neither had ever felt so right.

_And a partridge in a pear tree_


	3. Three French Hens

_On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Three French Hens**

Winry shrieked, and Ed cackled wickedly.

"Brother!" Al said, trying to reprimand the older boy, but unable to suppress his own giggles. "Change it back!" he managed between bouts of laughter.

Ed shook his head smugly. "Not until she answers the question," he insisted, folding his arms across his chest.

"Edward Elric!" a seven year old Winry yelled, her face becoming redder, standing straight up, her face inches from him. Good, she was still taller. "You change it back this instant, or I'll-"

One of his gold eyebrows quirked up. "Or you'll what?" he teased. "You have no weapon."

She looked down at the solid object in her hand. Not in its proper form, of course, but it would do. She whacked him firmly on the forehead with it, and grinned as he howled.

"Ow!"

Then she slapped she younger brother on the back of the head, for good measure.

"Hey!" Al protested. "I didn't do anything!"

She narrowed her eyes. "You were laughing," she informed him, then turned her head and let out another piercing yell. "Momma! Trisha! Ed's being mean!"

Her mother's voice floated from the next room. "Settle down, you three. Can't we leave you alone for five minutes?"

Winry put her hands on her hips, glaring at the brothers. "Yeah, Ed, grow up."

Just then a shadow fell across the three children, and Ed looked up to look down, and yelped. It was Granny.

She picked up the metal bullfrog in her wrinkled hand, turning it over, her expression amused. "What's this? You boys gave my granddaughter a toad for Christmas?"

Ed snickered and Al looked down at his feet. "Not exactly," said Al.

"Make him change it back!" the little girl insisted, just as Trisha was poking her head out of the kitchen.

"Come have some hot chocolate, you three, and then you can see what's in your stockings," she said, her eyes dancing merrily. Her gaze landed on her older son. "Ed, I'm sure I didn't hear Winry right. She didn't say you were being mean, did she?"

Before she could get an answer, they were crowding past her, grabbing for mugs, waiting impatiently for them to be filled.

"Aunt Sara, Uncle Richard, where are the marshmallows?" Ed asked once his mug was full of steaming chocolate.

"Ed! Don't be so rude!" Al chided, but Winry had caught the idea.

"Momma, can we have marshmallows too?" she asked, her eyes shining.

Ed rubbed his hands together. "I know, gimme some chalk, and I'll transmute them, out of-"

The bag of marshmallows landed in front of them on the table, and a stern voice behind them said, "There is no need for alchemy in the kitchen, Edward. Just enjoy what's here." Pinako plopped a marshmallow into her own mug, and sat down, content with a pipe in one hand and a hot drink in the other.

While the children sat happily at the table, swinging their legs and poking at the foam the melted candies had made in their cups, the parents crept out into the living room to hang the stockings.

"Ed's gonna get a lump of coal," Winry teased between gulps.

The boy frowned. "Am not, you are!" he countered. "Besides, even if I did, I'd just transmute it. I'd make it a diamond."

"A diamond?" she echoed.

Al was nodding. "That's right!" he piped up. "Nature makes diamonds out of coal, and alchemists can do the same thing!" His brother had explained what he knew of the process a few days earlier, and it made him feel very smart to be explaining it to Winry, even if he was certain that Ed had never successfully transmuted _anything _into a diamond.

Winry just scoffed. "What would you do with a diamond, Ed?" she said scornfully, thinking to herself that there were surely much more desirable things to obtain from the world than sparkling stones, such as sleek metal and perfectly fit gears…

Ed set his chin on his hand and shrugged, tilting his head. "I dunno," he said. Then he gave her one of his winning smiles. "Give it to you, probably. Isn't that how boys ask girls to marry them?"

Her jaw dropped and she ran from the room.

Ed stared after her for a moment, and then jumped up. "C'mon, Al, Winry's getting to open her stocking before us!"

When it came time for the Elrics to leave the Rockbell house for the evening, hands were held and warm sentiments were exchanged.

"The food was wonderful, Sara, Pinako. Next year we'll do this at our house," said Trisha.

"It was a delight to have you here," said Richard.

"It was so wonderful to watch the children play together," Sara said, smiling down at her daughter.

"Merry Christmas Ed! Merry Christmas Al!" Winry called out as they made their way down the front porch.

"Merry Christmas, Winry," the brothers said in unison, waving their mittened hands.

After Pinako had shut the door, Ed suddenly frowned. "Uh oh," he said, and Al looked over at him.

"What's wrong, Brother?"

"I forgot to turn Winry's wrench back to a wrench!" he wailed. "She's never gonna forgive me!" His eyes widened in horror. "Al, she's gonna _kill _me!"

Al just shrugged. "I changed it back for her while you were looking in your stocking," he said simply. "Maybe she'll remember it later, and find it, and then she won't be mad at you anymore."

His older brother's eyes still held a shade of panic. "_You _changed it back?" he repeated, smacking his forehead. "Al, now she's gonna pick you!"

"_You _said you'd give her a diamond," Al protested. "She's gonna pick you, Ed."

In the warm glow of the fireplace in the Rockbell living room, Winry sat at her mother's feet, leaning her head on her knee and staring at the flames.

"Did you have a nice time tonight?" her mother asked gently.

"Oh yes, it was the most perfect Christmas Eve ever!" she said happily, sitting up. She showed her mother the restored wrench. "Look, momma, I got my wrench back!"

Her mother smiled. She would have, of course, loved for her daughter to show an interest in medicine, but it seemed her mind was purely mechanical, and that was all right too.

Her father chuckled from his armchair. "You didn't let the boys tease you too much, did you?" he asked pleasantly.

Little Winry wrinkled her nose. "They kept bothering me about stuff. They said I had to pick one of them."

Her mother raised her eyebrows. "Pick one for what?" she asked her daughter.

She twisted around on the floor, showing her mother her disgusted expression. "Pick one to marry," she said. "Boys are so dumb."

She didn't understand why the three adults in the room were laughing at her.

_Two turtledoves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree_


	4. Four Calling Birds

_On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Four Calling Birds**

The younger brother trudged up the stairs, flashlight in hand.

The older brother trudged down the sidewalk, hands shoved in his pockets for warmth.

There was a light under the door, and Al wondered briefly if he had left it on earlier.

There were lights in every window, including, he saw, his own.

He didn't think she would remember; she was so old now.

He didn't think he could remember; it hadn't been long but he was terrified of forgetting.

"_Oh," Al said in surprise. There was someone in the upstairs room after all. _

_She turned, her eyes wide and round, and shining. She had been crying, and that was enough to send him over the edge as well. She held out her arm and he went at once into her embrace, burying his face in her soft shirt. _

_When they had both calmed, she looked down and saw that he still clutched the flashlight in his small hands. "It's okay, Al," she said, softly, soothingly. "I've had the light on for him all night." _

_And then, since they were alone, since they had no one to be strong for except each other and that illusion had already been dashed, they engaged in a fresh round of tears._

The younger brother was a scientist, just like the older one.

The older brother was an optimist, just like the younger one.

Al knew, that if he did not know where his brother was, there was no way he could reach him. There was no way to send him a message. His thoughts, no matter how desperate, would never reach him. Writing a letter and then burning it, as many had suggested he do, would produce only ash; was only a one-way correspondence.

Ed knew that laws were not laws and rules were not rules. There had to be a way back; he had only to discover it. It wasn't possible that he would be stranded in this world forever, because that would mean he was giving up, and he had come too far for that now.

Ed had pushed one of the hard wooden chairs against the wall, and sat, his elbow on the window sill and his chin in his hand, staring. The little flame from the candle danced in front of his face, a tiny cloud of warmth in the poorly insulated window frame. He could feel the chill from the glass competing with the heat from the tiny fire. He could see his own reflection, looking more pale and gaunt than he really was, all shadows and orange highlights from the candle, but where the light did not reach his image faded into the one on the other side of the glass, the London streets.

_He saw the old man get out of the cab, pull his coat closer in the brief chill before reaching the door, and he saw him disappear into the building. He heard his footsteps in the hall, heard his key in the door, but still jerked when he felt a soft, heavy hand on his flesh shoulder. "You didn't come to dinner," said the low voice._

_Edward pushed the chair back with his foot, making it scrape across the floor, knocking it over as he stood up unsteadily and limped across the room. "So what," he muttered. _

"_You were invited. They were expecting you," his father said calmly._

"_I wanted to be alone," Ed snapped, and in the low light his face looked much like his reflection in the window had. _

_Hohenheim sighed, righting the chair and looking at his son. "It's Christmas Eve. It's a time to spend with friends and family."_

"_Exactly. I wanted to be alone."_

_The father turned away then, unable to look at the wraith who existed purely to torment him. When Ed began to speak again, he did not turn around._

"_Why do we put candles in the windows?" he asked, and Hohenheim knew the answer would somehow be turned around and flung in his face, so he did not provide it. _

_Ed, however, had expected that. "They say its so people can find their way home. Soldiers coming home from war; children who have lost their way."_

"_Edward," the dead man said harshly. "This is your home now. Either accept that and move forward, or be quiet. I can't listen to your accusations, not tonight."_

_To his surprise, his son had no reply, and the man and the boy were plunged into darkness as the younger man blew out the candle with a puff of breath, fogging the window and flinging wax onto the sill._

Three French hens

Two turtledoves

And a partridge in a pear tree


	5. Five Golden Rings

_On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Five Golden Rings**

Ed had been looking down, seeing the dust clumps in the corners of the stairs and wondering if there was no one around to mop up the floors in the university building when classes were not in session. He didn't see who ran into him, only knew he had collided with something warm and solid and was grateful he caught hold of the banister in time to avoid tumbling down the entire flight of stairs after having his balance knocked out from under him.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, here, let me-" he heard from above him, and looked up in surprise.

"Alphonse?" he said, startled, twisting into a sitting position on the stairs and reaching down to begin to pick up the books his friend had dropped when colliding with him.

Alphonse was crouching down, also gathering his books, and blinked his light blue eyes in equal surprise. "Edward?" He frowned, his expression suddenly hurt, and took the books stiffly from his friend's hands. "You didn't tell me you were back."

Ed just shrugged, reaching up for the banister and standing up again, and Alphonse followed. "I just got in on the four o'clock train," he said in explanation, and noticed Al's expression relax.

"Oh," Al said awkwardly. "How was Romania? Did you find what you were looking for?" he asked politely.

Ed looked away. "I found some interesting things," he said noncommittally. "Hey, you haven't seen my father around here, have you?" he asked suddenly. "What are you doing in the university building anyway, Al?" he added.

Alphonse cracked a smile, his eyes brightening. "Oh, I took some classes this semester, like you suggested, and I took a job here over the break in the chemistry lab." He thought for a minute. "But I haven't seen your father at all, Ed, not even while classes were in session. Did you tell him you were coming back today?" he asked, frowning.

Ed just waved his hand, dismissing his friend's concern. "Nah. It's not that important anyway, it's not like I've been dying to see him or anything, I just wondered where the old man got to." Then he smiled engagingly. "So what kind of job are you doing that brings you up to the chemistry floor on Christmas Eve?"

Alphonse shifted his books in his arms, and they began to walk down the stairs together. "I'm looking after the grad student's experiments while they go spend time with their families for the holidays." He saw his friend's golden eyebrows draw down.

"Hey, doesn't _your _family live in Hirligen? That's more than half a day by train…" Ed said, his voice trailing off.

Alphonse just shrugged, but his expression was pained. "Well, money's scarce," he said tightly. "I need this job, and I can't afford a ticket anyway. I'll get there next year." He sighed. "I've never been away from my family for Christmas before," he added softly.

Ed looked down. "It's tough," he muttered.

They were still standing at the bottom of the stairs in the university's sciences building, both standing looking down. "Why didn't you wire your father to tell him you were coming home?" Al asked curiously.

"Home?" Edward echoed, and Al saw something flash behind his eyes that made his heart pang with sympathy. Then he blinked, and the expression was gone, and the usual nonchalant air was back. "I didn't come back to be with him," he repeated. "I came back to get away from the people I was staying with in Romania. They seemed to think I was some kind of charity case, inviting me to stay for the holidays and all."

Alphonse raised his eyebrows, unsure of how to respond to Ed's statement. Even if it hadn't been Christmas Eve, even if he hadn't known Ed had just returned from a two day train ride from a foreign country to an empty apartment, there was always something about his friend that made him want to offer comfort. And there was always something about Ed, not unlike the statement he had just made, that made him feel that comfort would be rejected.

"Are you done?" Ed asked abruptly.

"Huh?"

Ed tilted his head, letting his bangs fall over one eye. "You know, with whatever you came here to do. Did you finish it?"

Al nodded, puzzled. "Oh, yeah, I was just going to leave when I ran into you. Sorry, Ed, I didn't mean to hold you up," he said quickly. "I was just surprised to see you, that's all."

Ed walked past him then, heading towards the big double doors that lead to the Munich streets. He reached out one hand to cover the doorknob, paused, and then turned back to face Al. "Do you want to get some coffee with me?" he asked, his voice sounding oddly hollow. "There's a café sort of between my place and yours that's still open," he offered.

Al wanted to accept, wanted to tell Ed that of course, of course he would have coffee with him, of course he would not have to be alone, but a small problem remained. "I don't have any-"

Ed took a step forward, gently grasping his friend's shoulder and giving him a slight pull towards the door. "I'll pay, Al, don't worry about that. I just want your company."

Al smiled then, and he could feel the warmth of it all the way down to his toes. Maybe, after coffee, he could convince Ed to come back to his tiny place with him. Maybe he could make them both grilled cheese for Christmas Eve dinner, and they would light all the candles and eat in the flickering golden glow. Maybe they would talk, exchanging stories of Christmases past, and maybe Al would tell him how he thought about him every day since he had left and how he wondered if Ed felt the same about him.

Ed held the door open for him, and Al stepped into the bitter chill. The sun had set while they were inside, and the sky was only slightly alight with the deep blue glow of almost-night. "I would love," he said, watching his words come in puffs, freezing and floating away, "to keep you company," and he looked back as Ed pulled the door shut behind him.

Ed nodded once, falling in step beside him. "Good," he said. "I'm glad I ran into you here," he added. "I was going to stop by your place next anyways, you know, just to see if you were still in town." He looked over at his friend. "You're the closest thing I've got to family," he told him, his voice sincere, and that pained look behind his eyes had returned.

_Bong._

If Ed thought of him like family, perhaps he did care for him more than he let on. Perhaps he wasn't chasing a dream after all.

_Bong._

Al looked up, even though he knew the bells were coming from the church behind them, not from the sky.

_Bong._

"It's five o'clock," he said needlessly, hesitating for a moment before reaching for his friend's hand, clasping their gloved fingers together.

_Bong._

His eyes widened when Ed did not pull away, or tense up, or even look over at him with the startled expression he was picturing.

_Bong._

He merely smiled in the evening light, and squeezed his hand, pressing his fingers into his friend's palm, and continued walking beside him, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

_Four Calling Birds_

_Three French Hens_

_Two Turtledoves_

_And a Partridge in a Pear Tree_


	6. Six Geese aLaying

_On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Six Geese a-laying**

"Well," Gracia said, standing up, "I suppose it's time to put the children to bed." The three adults looked over at the tableau of childhood friends: Ed sprawling across the couch, one arm crossed over his eyes and the other flung above his head, stomach exposed; Winry sitting half upright on the floor, her cheek pressed into Ed's knee, snoring very softly. Al sat to the side of the couch, seeming to be asleep as well, but startled her when he rose to his feet at her comment.

"It's the eggnog you gave them," the tinny voice explained. "Brother liked it, because it's so sweet, I guess he didn't realize drinking so much of it would make him sleepy." The suit of armor reached one leather hand over the sleeping girl to gently pull his brother's shirt back down over his stomach without disturbing either blonde.

Maes drained his own mug and stood up, coming to stand behind his wife, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Alphonse, you take very good care of your brother," he told he huge metal suit that was a fourteen-year-old boy.

A laugh came from inside the form, and the lights in the helmet that served as eyes seemed to twinkle. "That's what younger brothers are for," he said merrily, turning to look at his brother and his friend. "Don't they look cute like that?"

Colonel Mustang ladled the last of the eggnog into his own mug, and glanced over at the two sleeping teenagers. _She's laying on his metal leg, _he realized. _That couldn't possibly be comfortable! Perhaps Fullmetal wasn't joking when he said his mechanic was in love with his metal parts. _Roy yawned, realizing how late it had become, and looked around his best friends home fondly, warm and glowing and decorated for the holidays. "Thank you for the evening, Maes, Gracia," he said, standing up. "I should be going. Alphonse, I'd be happy to take you and your brother back to the dorms tonight, it's on my way." His eyes fell on the sleeping blonde mechanic.

Gracia smiled. "She's spending the week with us," she explained. "She's been sleeping on the couch, so really, Edward has fallen asleep in her bed," she explained, looking down at the girl.

Winry's eyes began to flutter, and she turned, lifting her head from Ed's knee and sitting up fully. "Um?" she mumbled sleepily.

"We're leaving now, Winry," Al told her.

"Huh? M'kay, bye, Al," she said, closing her eyes again. "Happy Christmas."

Gracia laughed softly. "So, do you want to wake him up," she said to Al, "or should I?"

As she spoke, Ed turned on the couch, rolling over and curling his knees up, and Winry laid her head back down on the edge of the couch.

"Maybe I should just carry him to the car," Roy suggested.

"I'll carry him," Al cut in. "He's my brother."

_Five golden rings_

_four calling birds_

_three french hens_

_two turtledoves_

_and a partridge in a pear tree _


	7. Seven Swans aSwimming

_On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Seven Swans a-Swimming**

She jumped up when she heard the key in the door, and ran through the empty house, knowing that it was Al at the door but hoping beyond hope that it was a miracle. She had lost so much, and Al had lost so much, and it was Christmas, didn't they deserve just one miracle?

She threw her arms around him as he stood in the doorway stomping the snow from his boots, no less overjoyed to see him alone than she would have been to see him otherwise. She was relieved that he had exchanged the bright red coat for a heavy military trench, because of the weather, she assumed, so Al looked like Al and no one else.

The snow that had dusted his hair and his shoulders was melting in the warm house, and she let him go, shaking the now-water droplets from her hair and laughing as he did the same, reaching behind him to pull the door shut. "Guess what?" he said, grey eyes glowing. "The General's letting me take the rest of my vacation days after all. From now until new year's, I'm all yours!" he said excitedly, and she hugged him again, never mind getting wet.

She looked up at him, hands on her hips. "Did you grow again, Al?" she demanded, and he shrugged, smiling. "I know you were taller than me when you left last, but I think you're even taller than that."

"Well, my body is fourteen," he said, as if it was an ordinary condition, having one's body and mind at two different ages. "Of course I'm still growing." He shrugged out of his heavy coat, draping it over one of the kitchen chairs, and eyed the pie sitting on the counter. "You made pie?" he asked needlessly, and smiled when Winry smacked him lightly on the arm.

"Don't you touch my pie," she said with mock fierce-ness. "That's for tomorrow, don't you spoil Christmas by eating half the desert the night before."

"Why not?" Al complained. "It's not like there's anyone else here, it's just us. We can eat it now if we want. Or," he continued, musing, "We could eat this one tonight, and make another one tomorrow, unless you don't have any more ingredients, but I could-" He stopped when he saw her expression. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I'm sorry, Winry, I wasn't thinking."

"It's okay," she said dully. "I just miss her. It's Mrs. Hughes's recipe, for the pie, you know, but it's Granny's pie dish, and these are Granny's decorations I put up, and… it shouldn't be like this. It shouldn't be just us."

Al wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him. "Why don't we get a place in Central together. You could open up a shop there, and you wouldn't have to be so lonely way out here."

She sighed heavily. "I don't want to talk about this right now, Al, I told you I'd think about it, all right?"

"All right," he said easily. "Come on," he coaxed. "If I can't have the pie, you've got to feed me something, that was a long train ride from Central, I'm starving."

Slowly her expression lifted, and she gave him a wry smile. "You Elrics and your appetites," she said, shaking her head.

_six geese a-laying_

_five golden rings_

_four calling birds_

_three french hens_

_two turtledoves_

_and a partridge in a pear tree _


	8. Eight Maids aMilking

_On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Eight Maids a-Milking**

It was a beautiful dress.

Mint green, high quality, thick, smooth satin with a glowing sheen, the same color of that silk Xingian scarf Roy had bought for her early one morning on their honeymoon. _It just seemed so perfect for you; I wanted you to have it. I want you to have everything, _he had told her. It was so un-Roy like, the way he blushed, the way he was unsure, suddenly, if it really was something she would like, and it had made her smile, then.

She had known, of course, that the man she had divorced would be at the holiday party, and she had thought things would be fine. She had not even seen him in over a year, but she thought she was ready. _After all, _she reminded herself, _you left him. He holds no power over you. _

But she felt her eyes drawn to him anyway, before she even consciously realized he was in the room with her, and the plastic cup with the Christmas punch slipped from her fingers and bounced once on the tile floor before it rolled under the hors-d'oeuvres table. Her shoes, had she looked down at them, were probably now mint green and cranberry red speckled, but she was turning away quickly, not wanting to look at the man she had dedicated her entire adult life to.

He had seen her.

She knew he had seen her.

Their eyes had met, for a split second only, but that was enough.

She could be civil with him, why shouldn't she be? He was a good man _he was a good man, she told everyone he was a good man, and that was why he had so many people who were so fiercely loyal to him _and she admired the way he had moved up in the military, and how he had used his position to begin to right some of the terrible wrongs those who were no longer in power had inflicted upon Amestris _there are wrongs and then there are wrongs, no one can be always good and no one can be always right._

She opened her mouth and began to raise her hand, the hand that had been holding the punch, as if to get his attention even though she knew she already had it, but his gaze was intercepted by a young thing, no older than sixteen, surely, maybe someone's daughter, who put herself between herself and Roy, flipping her hair and saying something, whatever it was, that made his single eye crinkle and a smile spread over his face.

Riza told herself to look away, told herself not to be that woman, the jealous one, the one who exists for others, but she kept watching as he shook his head, and the girl seemed to protest but eventually gave in. Before that sigh of relief _why was she relieved? Roy loved women, had always loved women, and now that he was not tied to her why would it matter who he looked at, who he spoke to, who he danced with?_

Now another woman, closer to her own age, was clinging to his arm, followed by another with springy, ginger colored hair, and she watched him laugh again and run his fingers though his hair, pushing it off of his forehead. She would have looked away right then if he had not met her eyes again, excused himself, and headed in her direction.

She did not look down at her cranberry-stained shoes, and knew that he would not notice them either. "General," she greeted him professionally, allowing a touch of warmth in her voice.

He nodded. "Colonel," he returned, using her newly-appointed rank. "Congratulations."

_Congratulations. Congratulations on your promotion, congratulations on moving on with your life, congratulations on following your own dreams instead of mine, congratulations. _She nodded back. "Thank you."

Suddenly there was another woman at his side, yet a fourth, and certainly not the last, tugging on his sleeve and asking him to dance. She stared as he turned to her, patiently, and declined. "In fact," he said, tilting his head towards Riza, "I was planning on asking my wife to dance." She watched the other woman's eyes flick down to his ring finger, widen, and then look to Riza. _Poor girl, must think she's been given bad information, _Riza thought with a sudden pang of sympathy. The woman apologized, making a quick exit, and missing entirely the conflicted expression that clouded the face of Roy Mustang's former wife.

She could almost, but just almost and not quite, extend that same feeling of sympathy to man she had divorced over a year ago who was still wearing his wedding ring.

_Seven swans a-swimming_

_Six geese a-laying_

_Five golden rings_

_Four calling birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtledoves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree_


	9. Nine Ladies Dancing

_On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Nine Ladies Dancing**

"Aunt Greit and Aunt Isobel, meet my friend Edward Elric," Alphonse introduced with a flourish, and watched his friend give a slight bow, which his aunts found charming of course. Edward was in rare form that night, his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were bright, an entirely different vision from the boy who had spent the two-day train ride brooding. 

_My house is pretty small, _Alphonse had warned him, _and it'll seem even smaller with all the family around. It's gonna be us against the women._

_Your mother and your grandmother, right? Ed had ventured, but Al had shaken his head with a slight laugh,_

_Oh no, he said with amusement. It's Christmas. They'll all be there._

_Ed had raised his eyebrows, inquiring, all?_

_Al had nodded firmly. Nine of them, he had told his friend._

"Pleased to meet you," Edward said, and Alphonse watched his two aunts exchange a glance that was surely a silent communication between sisters. Was it Ed's accent they were wondering about, where he was from? Was it the fact that he did not shake their hands?

"Katya and Tanya are Aunt Isobel's daughters," Al continued, pointing out the two fair-haired, blue eyed girls on the other side of the room helping to set the table. "They're ten and fourteen, I think," he added, waving to the girls. Ed followed suit, and the older girl blushed and ducked away. "Aunt Deborah and Aunt Rosa are coming later this afternoon. Aunt Rosa is actually my great aunt, and Deborah is my mother's second cousin. Confused yet?" he asked with a grin.

Ed just shrugged. "Who's number nine?" he asked his friend.

"Nine?" Al echoed, puzzled.

Ed raised his eyebrows. "You said nine women. I've only counted eight."

Al frowned for a moment, and his two aunts laughed at him. "Oh Alphonse," one of them chuckled, Aunt Greit, the darker-haired one. "This is why you brought your friend? Because you felt out numbered?"

Aunt Isobel ruffled her nephew's hair, and Al pretended to look irritated with her. "Can you blame me?" he countered.

Just then there was a bustling at the door and another round of hugging and kissing amongst Alphonse and his various family members, and introductions for Ed. A tall, dark haired woman several years older than Ed was introduced to him as "Number Nine."

"This is Stephanie, she's my cousin, I think," Al told him, still laughing.

Her eyes were blue, but a deeper blue than Al's. "You think?" Ed asked, one eyebrow quirking up, and the woman paused in unwinding her long, multi-striped scarf to give Al a light shove on his shoulder.

"Yeah, we're related somehow, I guess we're cousins," she said merrily. "Al, where's your mother? In the kitchen?"

Al nodded, grinning. "You try getting her to step out of it for even one minute," he challenged.

Stephanie strode quickly to the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, "It's nice to meet you, Ed," as she disappeared inside the heavenly-smelling room.

"My mother," Alphonse told him, his tone suggesting that the information was a great secret, "is a perfectionist when it comes to food."

Ed's grin widened. "That's excellent," he said.

It was true, as Al had told him, the house was small, but to Ed it didn't seem so much crowded as it did _full._ He had feared, upon first agreeing to join Alphonse in Hirligen for Christmas, that Al's mother might be a replica of his own, and he had been nervous and withdrawn though the entire train ride. His worries, however, were unfounded. Mrs. Heiderich, though a mother through and through who scolded them both for not bundling up enough for their walk from the train station in the snow, was entirely unique in every way. In his relief, Edward did not notice the way she had stared at him, open mouthed, before smiling warmly at his old-fashioned bow and welcoming him into her home.

"Edward?"

He looked up, startled, not even having realized that he had been lost in thought for who knows how long. Alphonse was coming down the stairs, a huge glass tureen in his arms and disappeared into the kitchen with it. Mrs. Heiderich stood above Ed, holding a book of matches out to him. "Would you mind lighting the candles for me?" she asked. "It's starting to get dark, and dinner is almost ready."

Ed looked around, nodding slowly, and rose from the comfortable chair, taking the matches from her.

"There's some on the table," she instructed, "and then there's one in each window, and there's some on the mantle in the living room," she told him.

"Sure," he said distantly. "I'd be glad to." He flipped the book open, pressing it into his false hand and striking a match quickly with his flesh one. Careful not to burn himself, or to let any wax drip onto the tablecloth or the window sills, he moved around the room lighting them one by one

_so lost children can find their way home_

when he finished he found a warm mug of some sort of spiced drink pressed into his hand by one of Al's giggling cousins, and almost let the fragrant steam fool his brain into believing that he belonged in this small, full house with his friend _not his brother his friend._

Christmas dinner was, as Al promised, amazing, and Ed listened with interest to the reminiscences of previous holidays when Al's father had been alive, the year that the Romanian relatives had visited, the year of the incredible snowstorm when everyone had spent the night, and the year the Heiderichs had spent Christmas in Frankfurt with Cousin Stephanie's parents and Al had fallen asleep at the opera. Al's family had not been without tragedy, Ed knew, after all, Germany had been through the Great War, and had lost, but tragedy had not destroyed this family.

Al had looked at him curiously when Ed had questioned him about the religious meaning of Christmas, skeptical of his friend's ignorance. This "Christianity" that was so prevalent in this world was entirely foreign to him, except for the way they labeled their years Anno Domini. It seemed vaguely familiar to him, although he couldn't seem to place where. Haltingly, Al had told him the story of a tiny baby who had come to save the world from sin.

It was a nice story, Ed supposed. Perhaps this world was so full of horrors that people needed to believe there was some kind of salvation in order to continue living. Christmas in Amestris, if it ever had them, had completely lost its religious roots, as far as Ed could tell. Christmas was family, something he had been years without _something he might always be without because Al's family was not his family and Al's home was not his home _and for this one night he allowed himself to feel the contentment he had been denied all these years.

After the meal Mrs. Heiderich and the two aunts huddled around the old piano, playing and singing carols that had begun to be familiar even to Ed, and he sat nibbling on a second slice of pie and drinking warm cider. He was about to prop his foot up on the coffee table, but Al, plopping down next to him, had beat him to it, and his mother had looked away from the piano for just an instant to shoot him a disapproving gaze and he immediately sat upright.

The two younger cousins had joined in the caroling, singing louder and with even more enthusiasm after a round of applause from the older relatives, and Al and Stephanie had gotten into an equally loud discussion having something to do with Universities. Al had always seemed the quiet sort, but Stephanie was by far the loudest family member and Ed supposed Al felt the need to be equally loud just to be heard.

Eventually the family tired of creating their own music and Al's grandmother put on the gramophone, prompting the two younger cousins, Katya and Tanya, to begin dancing comically around the room in sweeping, lopsided circles. Al got up to refill his and Ed's mugs with cider and Ed and Stephanie watched with amusement as the girls began to dance more seriously, trying to mirror each other's steps like a real waltz.

The girls caught Ed watching, and giggled again, shoving at each other and stepping on one another's feet, and finally the older girl (Ed couldn't remember if it was Katya or Tanya) came to stand in front of him. "Do you want to dance with us?" she asked shyly.

Ed blushed. "No thanks," he mumbled, offering a smile instead.

"She thinks you're cute!" the younger girl piped up, and Stephanie laughed at the panicked expression that spread over his face. "Come on," the younger girl added, jumping up and down, "Come dance."

Al returned to his spot on the couch, handing Ed a full mug and exchanged amused glances with his oldest cousin.

Ed set the mug down and leaned back into the couch, flipping his ponytail to lay across his shoulder. "Sorry," he said with half a smirk, "I don't dance, why don't you ask Al?"

"Eeeewww," the girls announced in unison.

"Hey!" Al protested.

Ed just shrugged. "Well, then dance by yourselves again," he suggested, picking up his mug and taking a gulp of the spiced drink. "You seemed to be doing pretty well."

"I could teach you to dance," the first girl offered in the same shy voice.

Ed set his mug down again, deciding to end the exchange once and for all. "I can't dance because I only have one leg," he said firmly. "But Al," he added, gesturing to his friend, "I'm sure, is an excellent dancer."

"I'm sorry," the girl whispered. "I didn't know."

Ed just shrugged again. "It's okay," he assured her. "Don't worry about it."

"But you have two legs!" the youngest girl insisted, pointing at his feet.

He raised his eyebrows and leaned down to lift his pant leg, showing them the wood above his sock. "Looks can be deceiving," he told them with a smirk. "Now go bother Al."

"Al-" they began, but Al was standing up.

"I'm going to dance with my mother," he said quietly, and the girls fell silent. The music on the gramophone had changed, and Ed watched Al hold his hand out to his mother and watched her face light up as she rose and took it.

They moved gracefully around the room, and Stephanie sighed beside him. "Al's such a sweet boy," she said, her eyes on them as well. Eventually she turned her attention back to Ed. "So, were you a soldier?" she asked politely.

"Huh?" he said, dragging his attention away from Al. "Oh, you mean my leg. No, I wasn't," he told her.

She sighed again. "My fiancée fought in the Great War," she said, looking down, twisting a ring he had not noticed before. "He died in it, just like Al's father, just like my brothers." She looked back to Al and his mother dancing. "Al looks so much like his father," she said almost wistfully. "His eyes, and his expressions, too." Then she turned back to him, her tone changing abruptly. "You know who you look like?" she said suddenly.

Ed quirked an eyebrow. "Who?" he inquired, because he had to say something, even though he was dreading the answer.

"You look like Al's brother. His name was Edward too, isn't that strange?" The song had ended just as she spoke, and the room fell silent. Ed wanted to sink into the couch, to disappear, but every eye was now on him. "Doesn't he look like Ed?" Stephanie asked loudly.

The aunts were nodding slowly, and Alphonse was looking at him strangely.

"They say everyone has a twin out there somewhere," Stephanie continued, her voice echoing through the silence. "What do you think are the chances that we've actually found one?"

Ed felt the back of his neck begin to prickle, as if he really was the ghost the family was now seeing him as. "That is a pretty strange coincidence," he agreed, trying to make his voice light, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck. His and Al's eyes locked from across the room, and he knew he was thinking of the day they had met, how they had already known the other's name before they had even spoken.

Stephanie stood, crossing the room to the gramophone to change the disc. "It's too quiet in here," she announced, grabbing the hand of the youngest cousin. "Come on, I'll dance with you, I'm an excellent dancer."

_Eight maids a-Milking_

_Seven swans a-Swimming _

_Six geese a-Laying_

_Five golden rings_

_Four calling birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtledoves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree_


	10. Ten Lords aLeaping

_On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Ten Lords a-Leaping**

It had seemed so logical when he thought about it.

Their relationship was obviously no longer centered around working, how could it be, when he had not set foot in his office in over eight months yet seen her every day?

She had been there for him at his weakest and most vulnerable, and he had not been ashamed, merely grateful.

She knew him, knew every aspect of his personality and he had not even realized it until she was there in his every waking moment during his recovery, always saying the right thing, always doing the best for him.

She held him in the highest respect, even when he doubted himself. She believed in his goals even when he was ready to give up. She was his sole supporter, in the days after the fall of the Fuhrer, she was his co-conspirator in the days before, the only one he trusted to accompany him in what might have been his last act.

She was, he supposed, his best friend. His best friend who spend the night by his side, his best friend who spent the morning pampering him, coaxing him to eat at least something when he had no appetite, his best friend who insisted on opening the drapes and letting the light in when he preferred to brood in the darkness.

She was the most beautiful woman he knew, and he had never seen it, or never known he had seen it. Everything about her was suddenly perfect, perfect for him, exactly what he desired, the most attractive in his eyes: the shade of her hair, the curve of her cheek, her thin lips and rich brown eyes, her soft, strong hands and long fingers and her narrow waist and everything about her was her and only her and no other woman could possibly compare.

It was logical, then, that they should spend the rest of their lives together.

But logic does nothing to still the nervous heart.

_Nine ladies dancing _

_Eight maids a-milking_

_Seven swans a-swimming_

_Six geese a-laying_

_Five golden rings_

_Four calling birds _

_Three French hens_

_Two turtledoves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree_


	11. Eleven Pipers Piping

_On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me_

**Eleven Pipers Piping**

Winry passed a red glass ornament down to Al, who was sitting cross-legged at the base of the tree with the box in his lap. He carefully wrapped the ball in tissue and set it neatly in its section, holding a hand up for the next ornament. When one did not appear in his hand, he glanced up at Winry, raising his eyebrows.

She was resting her chin on her hands over the top step of the ladder, her long hair hanging down over the rungs, and staring out the window.

"Earth to Winry," Al said softly.

"There's no snow," she said, her expression becoming no more focused than before she spoke, continuing to stare blankly.

Al just shrugged, leaning back on his hands. "Doesn't snow in Dublith," he told her. "Too far south."

"Should be snow on Christmas."

Al set the box aside and stood up, climbing onto the second step of the ladder with one foot between hers and one foot beside. "Should be a lot of things for Christmas," he murmured from behind her, resting his forehead briefly between her shoulder blades, then sighing and reaching around her for another glass ornament. "Come on," he said, trying a smile. "I hardly ever get to see you anymore, Christmas seems to be the only time we get to be together. You can't mope like this every year."

She turned her head, her bangs covering most of her narrowed eyes. "I don't mope," she snapped indignantly.

Al just shrugged again, stepping back down the ladder and picking up the ornament box, wrapping this one as carefully as the previous and setting it in its place. "If you say so," he said noncommittally.

She straightened and reached for another decoration, handing it down to him. "I don't mope, Al," she repeated firmly. "I just wish it could have snowed."

"Next year I'll meet you in Rizembool for Christmas," he offered, looking up at her. "There's always snow there, this time of year."

"Next year I'll be in Rizembool anyway, so you'd better meet me there for Christmas," she said playfully. "This is my last year apprenticing in Rush Valley, you know. Here's the star," she added, plucking it from the top of the tree and climbing backwards down the ladder, hopping off the last rung and brushing her hands off on the front of her pants. "I think that's all of it," she told him, and together they lifted the heavy box and hauled it off to the closet for the next year.

"Be careful with that box!" Izumi called to them from the other room.

Al tightened his grip on it. "Yes Sensei!"

"Winry your things are all over the guest room, I thought your suitcase was already packed!" Pinako added.

Winry looked back over her shoulder. "Yes Granny, all right, I'll finish packing now. I was just helping Al!"

They hefted the box up, setting it on the top shelf of the closet. Winry hurried to the guest room to collect her things, and Al paused in the doorway of the living room, where Izumi sat, Sig's arm draped heavily over her shoulders, across from Pinako, who was contentedly puffing at her pipe. "Alphonse," the old woman commanded. "Come here."

Al crouched down in front of her and she placed her wrinkled hands on his cheeks, and he looked into her twinkling eyes. Granny had not changed on him the way Winry had, she was the same as she ever was, impossibly old, impossibly short, and as wise and kind as he could ever wish for. Sometimes, even now, it still startled him how grown up Winry was and it still made him feel out of sorts, out of place, like he had landed himself in a world that was almost real but not quite. Yet even at ten years old, (three years ago already, wasn't it?) he could see how he had hurt her, turning to his Aunty and Sensei for comfort and avoiding her, his best friend, because she was not what he remembered.

Granny released him. "Your face is different," she proclaimed.

"My face?" Al echoed, startled.

The old woman nodded, putting the stem of her pipe back between her wrinkled lips. "You're growing up," she said firmly.

"Oh," was all he could say, still crouched in front of her, looking up. He stood. "Good," he added, and frowned when Izumi chuckled at him.

"Al," she said kindly, patting the chair next to her, "Come sit here a minute." She reached for an orange from the basket in the center of the table and handed it to him, and he began to peel it. She gave a light cough, hiding it behind her hand, and Al watched Sig's face cloud with worry. Izumi looked up at him, her eyes insisting she was fine, and then smiled back at Al. "Don't grow up too fast, okay?"

There was nothing Alphonse Elric wanted more than to grow up. He didn't want his childhood if he couldn't spend it with his brother. He only wanted what could bring himself closer to his goals, but he looked around the table and saw the faces of the people who had picked up his world when it had been shattered, who had loved him and protected him and done everything the could have to shelter him from the harm that could come to him by prying into the forbidden. Left with no father, no mother, and no brother, this was his family, and he could not out rightly argue with them. "I won't," he assured the adults, popping a section of orange into his mouth and smiling for them.

"Al," Pinako instructed him, nearly a half hour later, "Go see what's delaying my granddaughter," and Al sprung up from his seat, leaving the orange peel in front of his place at the table.

"Winry," he called down the hall, coming to stop right outside the guest room. He sighed, marching into the room and switching the radio off. "You said you weren't moping," he accused.

She turned to face him from where she had been sitting on the bed. "I'm not," she insisted, "I was packing."

He looked at her suitcase at the foot of the bed, clasped shut and the room returned to the state it was in before she had arrived. "You're already packed," he pointed out.

"Al, I wasn't-"

He flopped down on the bed next to her, laying back and letting his head drop into the space between the bed and the wall. "That was the Ed song," he said to the ceiling. "I know you. I know you and that song." He sat up, looking intently into her eyes and taking her hand in his. "Look, he isn't gone, all right? I'll get him back. Next Christmas, it'll be all three of us, at home, in Rizembool, with snow, even, okay? I promise."

She looked sad, and he frowned. He hadn't meant to make her sad. "Don't promise me that, Al," she whispered.

He shrugged. "Why not? What if I do? Don't you want things to be back to the way they were?"

"I'm just happy you're alive, I'm thankful we have you, and I don't want to lose you too," she said seriously. "If you're going to promise me something, promise me you'll stay safe."

"Promise me you'll quit listening to that song," he countered.

"Al!" she protested.

"I don't like to see you sad!"

She stood up, grabbing her suitcase off the bed, and he stepped in front of her, trying to grab it out of her hand.

"I'll get that," he offered.

"I got it!" she insisted, side stepping him and slipping out the doorway.

He was in front of her in an instant, blocking her path down the hall. "Lemme carry it for you," he pressed, his eyes playful.

"_Al,_" she warned, a mock-glare crossing her features.

He stepped back one step, looking up. "Wait," he said, stepping back one more step. "Wait," he said again. "All right, right here," he said firmly, snatching the suitcase from her hand while she was distracted and setting it on the ground.

"Whoops, we forgot a decoration," she said.

Al grinned. "Nuh uh," he said, grey eyes sparkling. "We didn't forget anything."

"_Al_," she said again.

"It's a tradition," he said. "It's Christmas."

"Christmas is over."

"No it's not."

So she kissed him, under the mistletoe, in the Curtis's hallway, eleven days after Christmas. She meant to kiss him quickly on the cheek, but he had turned at the last minute and pressed his lips into hers, startling her enough that it took her a few moments to realize what had happened.

Alphonse Elric had just stolen her first kiss.

He was still grinning, bright eyed, when they broke apart, and she noticed his hands on her waist. It was an innocent enough kiss, lasting no more than a few seconds and… it had been so sweet, and… lovely, she admitted.

She put her hands over his. "Al," she said gently.

"Merry Christmas!" he said, his voice a little high, and a touch nervous.

She looked at him for a moment. "You're too young for me," she said finally.

He looked down. "It was just a kiss, no big deal," he mumbled to the floor, and immediately she felt cruel. When he looked up, his eyes were serious again. "But I'm not too young," he told her. "I'm only one year younger than you, I always have been, and I always will be. One year isn't that big of a deal, is it?"

She kissed him lightly once more, on the forehead, and didn't argue. "No, I suppose it isn't," she said.

"Winry!" Pinako called, and Al picked up her suitcase, heading out to the font of the house. "Come on girl, we don't want to miss our train!"

Al and Winry hugged goodbye, with Al promising to try for some time off in March to visit her in Rush Valley and Winry promising to write him more often than she had been. Al crouched down to hug his Aunty, and she smelled of tobacco, as always. "You be good to my granddaughter," she warned him, "and take care of yourself," she added, and he assured her he would.

As the three of them, Al, Izumi, and Sig, stood on the porch waving to the Rockbells, Al could feel his Sensei's eyes on him, and the vague sense of terror she had always instilled in him stirred, but she said nothing, instead wrapping one arm around his shoulders and the other around her husband's waist.

Al could hear faint strains of music coming from inside the house, and although he knew it couldn't be the same song, it was still the one he heard in his head. _Don't look back,_ he thought, echoing the song. _You can't move forward if you keep looking back, _he thought, echoing the echoes of his brother.

_Ten lords a-leaping_

_Nine ladies dancing_

_Eight maids a-milking_

_Seven swans a-swimming_

_Six geese a-Laying_

_Five golden rings_

_Four calling birds_

_Three French hens_

_Two turtledoves_

_And a partridge in a pear tree_


	12. Twelve Drummers Drumming

_On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me _

**Twelve Drummers Drumming**

Roy Mustang pulled his thick coat tighter across his chest and adjusted his wool hat on his head, oddly grateful to the eye patch for keeping at least half of his face protected from the bitter chill.

He could hear sounds in the distance, like drumbeats or gunfire, and every so often the clouds above the mountains flickered with an odd yellow green light. Lightening? Bombs? Alchemy?

He was waiting for orders.

He could be waiting for death.

Had he been in battle so many times that he was numb to the sensation of his life hanging precariously in the balance, or was he merely freezing?

He had had enough of this post. He had had enough of waiting, of guarding, up north in the bitter cold. He had had enough of accepting his fate, accepting his demotion, of not going after his goals. He wanted to return to Central, to return to Riza and collect his unit, but now the attack that intelligence had been predicting was truly playing out.

If he made it out of this, he would return.

The real Roy Mustang would return.

_eleven pipers piping_

_ten lords aleaping_

_nine ladies dancing_

_eight maids amilking_

_seven swans aswimming_

_six geese alaying_

_five golden rings_

_four calling birds_

_three french hens_

_two turtledoves_

_and a partridge in a pear tree _


End file.
